


the conceptual art of brooding

by eversall



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Crack-ish, Fluff, M/M, dramatic vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 01:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eversall/pseuds/eversall
Summary: Simon comes home to Raphael sulking. Or, he’s sure Raphael doesn’t consider it sulking, but the older vampire is reclined across the ridiculous amount of throw pillows decorating his bed, a book in his hand that he’s glaring ferociously at..Simon Lewis faces off against his boyfriend's fantastic dramatics.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [ yamina](https://raphsantiagay.tumblr.com/) kills me with her headcanons smh wyd???? make sure to go bug her about cute raphael things so she can suffer a bit. anyway so she introduced me to broody raphael santiago: A Concept. i'm in love. 
> 
>  
> 
> you can prompt me on my [ tumblr ](http://eversall.tumblr.com/)!!

Simon comes home to Raphael sulking. Or, he’s sure Raphael doesn’t consider it sulking, but the older vampire is reclined across the ridiculous amount of throw pillows decorating his bed, a book in his hand that he’s glaring ferociously at.

“Please tell me what – is that really _Shakespeare_? You are _so_ old – Shakespeare has done to make you so angry.” Simon announces, toeing off his shoes and socks as he grins at Raphael. Raphael looks up and scowls harder, but his shoulders relax minutely and Simon’s reminded all over again that he _loves_ this man.

“It’s not Shakespeare.” Raphael bites out, and Simon coughs, shucking his jacket and throwing it haphazardly across a chair, ignoring Raphael’s disapproving noise.

“Funny enough, I figured that out myself.” Simon replies, stripping down to his boxers and taking a flying leap onto the bed. Raphael and his book bounce slightly, ruining the whole irate aesthetic that his boyfriend’s cultivating. Shakespeare falls flat onto Raphael’s lap, and Simon takes the book and tosses it gently onto the bedside table.

“Talk to me, Raphael.” Simons says softly, and Raphael runs a hand through his hair, working it free of the ridiculous amount of product he puts in it, and looks down at Simon, who’s sprawled out on the bed.

“Your friend came by today, along with Magnus.” He says, and Simon hums. He knows that Clary is out tracking down Iris while he and Jace try to find all the other warlock children the woman turned loose on the world. “It was a very taxing conversation.”

“Did she say something? Was she insensitive? I’m sorry, I know she doesn’t always understand what it’s like – “

“No.” Raphael says shortly. “It wasn’t that.”

Simon’s silent for a while at that, idly tapping his fingers along Raphael’s thigh, until it occurs to him – “Wait, did you even _talk_ to her?”

“…no.” Raphael admits quietly. Simon lets out a cross between a wheeze and a snort, and then buries his face in a throw pillow and laughs silently into it, his shoulders shaking. Raphael pinches his arm sharply. “Stop laughing at me.”

“You’re – _so_ intimidated by a tiny little scrappy Shadowhunter.” Simon gets out, still sniggering as he looks up from the pillow.

“I’m not _intimidated_.” Raphael says exasperatedly. “I just don’t _care_ about Fray, but she keeps trying to _talk_ to me.”

“Well, I think a great place to start would be her first name.” Simon points out reasonably. “Instead of, you know, acting like you’re a teacher calling roll with the whole ‘Fray’ act.” Raphael hums noncommittally, a thoughtful look on his face as he arranges the pillows to his liking and finally lays down beside Simon.

“Maybe I will.” He finally says, and Simon yawns in response, tucking his head into the crook of Raphael’s neck and mumbling, “Another successful advising session from Simon Lewis, agony aunt extraordinaire.”

.

Simon walks in the next day to find Raphael _brooding_. There’s really no other word for it. He’s overdressed in a sharp blue suit, leaning back against the ornate red-gold sofa in the corner of the room. There’s an honest to God _chalice_ in his hand, filled with blood, and he’s slowly sipping from it with his fangs out for added dramatics. Simon goggles at him.

“Did I miss the memo to reenact Twilight?” He asks. Raphael sighs gustily, and Simon arches an eyebrow. “And now we’ve progressed to sighing unnecessarily.”

“The Nephilim detest me.” Raphael announces grandiosely, his tone akin to the one people generally use to talk about a death in the family. “Clarissa has forsaken me, and in doing so declared our love illegitimate in her eyes. Those half-angels think they can pass judgement on anyone – “

“Stop right there, Count Dracula.” Simon says, rolling his eyes. “I’m _sure_ the reason they all encouraged me to ask you out all those months ago was because our love is ‘illegitimate’, yeah. They definitely all bet on it and took us out to celebratory milkshakes to congratulate us on dating all so they could begin to _detest_ you months later.”

“You’re laughing.” Raphael says, dangerously close to whining.

“Get rid of the fucking chalice, oh my God.” Simon throws his hands up in the air as he goes over to the sofa. Raphael scowls mutinously and puts the chalice down on a table, glaring like a rebellious kitten as Simon throws an arm around his shoulder and pulls Raphael towards him. “What happened, Edward Cullen?”

“I just tried to _talk_ to her.” Raphael says, his voice quiet and serious. “Just polite conversation – and she _flinched_ away from me and left. I don’t understand. I thought…she tolerated me, at least.”

“Wait, _Clary_ walked away?” Simon asks, frowning. “That doesn’t sound like the Clary I know. What exactly did you say?”

“I said, ‘Clarissa, how was your day?’ and she looked like I’d murdered a dog in front of her – “

“Raphael.” Simon cuts across him, smoothing his thumb over the hairs at the nape of Raphael’s neck and sighing. “It’s – yeah. I know why. The name.”

“The name?” Raphael repeats, untangling himself from Simon’s loose embrace and regarding him with an arched eyebrow.

“It’s – Clarissa. Only Valentine called her that.” Simon frowns. “It reminds her of him, and everything he’s done. And that he’s – the only remaining parent she has.”

“I would never – I had no idea.” Raphael says slowly, a horrified expression crossing his face.

“You couldn’t have known.” Simon hastens to say, placing a reassuring hand on Raphael’s knee. Raphael swallows convulsively, looking at Simon. “No, seriously, it’s – she just needs a little time. She’ll understand.”

“I’m an idiot.” Raphael sighs, standing up and massaging the bridge of his nose. Simon snorts, and Raphael looks at him wryly.

“What a change,” Simon laughs, “you’re the idiot now.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Raphael warns, and Simon stands, pulling the shorter man in for a quick kiss.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He murmurs.

.

Simon’s tossing his phone from hand to hand as he walks into the DuMort the next day and runs into Clary.

“Fray!” he cheers, sweeping her up in a hug.

“Simon.” She laughs as he sets her down. “Any idea why Raphael needs me?”

“He does? Should I be jealous?” Simon wonders, laughing when Clary elbows him gently. “Sorry, sorry. No, I don’t know.”

“He texted _me_.” Clary explains as they make their way through the front entrance and up the stairs, Simon nodding to the vampires lounging around. “It’s all very strange.”

“Maybe my boyfriend’s been taken over by a pod person.” Simon says as he pushed the door to Raphael’s office open. “Have you, _darling_?”

“Have I what? Don’t call me _darling_ , I’ll rip your eyes out.” Raphael says casually, and Simon laughs as he goes around to the desk and drops a hand to Raphael’s back, leaning down and brushing a kiss over his forehead.

“There he is. _Not_ a pod person, what do you know.” Raphael finally looks up from his paperwork and takes in the two of them.

“Do I want to know?” he asks dryly, and Clary shrugs.

“Probably not.” She smiles. “What can I do for you, Raphael?” He regards her silently for a moment before he stands up and makes his way over. Simon hangs back by the desk, watching.

“I owe you an apology.” Raphael finally says. Clary opens her mouth, looking confused, but Raphael continues. “Simon let me know that calling you Clarissa was a bad choice. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you harm.”

“Oh.” Clary shakes her head, her eyes falling to the ground. “There was no way you would have known that. It’s fine.” She looks up at him, smiling faintly, but there’s something immeasurably sad in her eyes. Simon can see it, and apparently Raphael can see it too because he frowns.

“You know,” Raphael says slowly, “he doesn’t define you. Your father.”

“What?” Clary asks, straightening her shoulders as she stares him down. “I – “

“I know more than anybody else what it’s like to be defined by a past you can’t control.” Raphael continues quietly. “You can’t forget it, but that doesn’t make it your future.” He glances at Simon then, his eyes bright, before he glances back at Clary, his expression soft.

“Thank you.” Clary says hesitantly. “It’s, um – it’s hard to be part of a world where I’m his daughter.”

“You’re more than that, Clary.” Simon says immediately, frowning and crossing his arms. Raphael nods.

“Take it from someone who was around for it – you have become far more than that.” He confirms.

.

“I think I preferred it when you two _didn’t_ get along.” Simon complains when he comes into the office the next day and sees Raphael and Clary bent over a chess board.

“Hush.” Clary instructs. “I’m learning the Queen’s Gambit.”

“You _never_ play chess with me.” Simon whines, sprawling onto the couch next to Clary.

“You can’t sit still for even five minutes, how is anyone supposes to play this game with you?” Raphael mutters, and Simon grins because hey, it’s true. Also – there’s something indescribably amazing about his best friend and his boyfriend sitting there and beginning to rebuild.

 _Even_ if his boyfriend has his chalice of blood out again and Clary’s covered her arms in unnecessary runes that not only mean nothing, but are also interspersed with Hebrew letters he’s taught her. The people he knows are so _dramatic_.

But he loves them anyway, he thinks as he takes his phone out and quickly snaps a picture despite Raphael’s protests. He loves them anyway.

 

 


End file.
